


Soulless

by StereotypicalWeebThings



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Dark, Dystopian Settings, Go with the flow, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-04-23 23:30:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14343234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StereotypicalWeebThings/pseuds/StereotypicalWeebThings
Summary: Imagine a world where you could not age until you've met your soulmate. Imagine that you grow old with them. Imagine dying together, hand in hand. In this world it seems as if everyone is destined to meet the one. How do you know when you meet them? What if, you were never meant to meet them?





	1. Chapter 1: Rough Start

Chapter 1: Rough Start...

 

“Jamison Fawkes?”

I look up from my lap, finding my gaze settling on a bored looking nurse. She’s wearing blue scrubs that’s littered with different breeds of cats. Her face reminds me of an actress I saw on the TV a few moments ago. She finally makes eye contact with me and I vaguely note she wears contacts.

“Fawkes?”

I nod my head a little reluctantly. If I don’t get this stupid appointment done Mako will rip me a new one. An involuntary wince wracks my body, catching the nurse’s attention.

“This way Mr. Fawkes.”

I slowly stand, feeling my bones creak with the effort. We both begin to walk down a long hallway painted white, and lined with wooden doors that are mostly closed. Each door has a block indicating its number. Normally I find myself in the single digit rooms, but the nurse has me quickly passing those. It’s toward the end of the hallway I find myself ushered in and forced to sit on the examination table. She’s already scribbling nonsense onto the bright purple sheets spread out on the doctor’s desk. 

“How have you been Mr. Fawkes,” she asks blandly.

“The same as usual.”

“What would you describe as normal?”

“Normal.” 

A smile spreads across my face, a feeling of mischief seeping into my bones. When she turns around her face is exactly what I thought it’d be. She looks like she's about to strangle me, making me giggle.

“Mr. Fawkes are you taking any medication?”

“Nope,” I answer easily.

I'm supposed to be taking medicine, but I never picked up my first prescription. Even though they mailed it to me almost a month afterwards Mako wasn’t home and so I was able to throw them out. I’m fine, I don’t trust these crazy doctors to tell me what’s right or wrong with me. Thankfully she doesn’t question it, just starts jotting down more nonsense. Quickly she stands and gathers up the obnoxious papers into her arms. Without a word she leaves the room, slamming the door behind her. This is the worst part, waiting. 

I’m not the most patient individual on the planet. There was one time where Mako and I went with some of his gang members to some mexican restaurant. What was it called again, Taco Tell? Mexican Cuisine? The French Revolution? Peppers? Doesn’t matter, we enter the place and it is packed with people. Already something else I hate, people. Anyway, so we get in line and Mako wants me to be ready to order before we get to the counter. I decided on something simple you know, just a beef taco wrap. A large drink too because I can’t get enough of the Brisk tea option they got.  So now it’s our group’s turn to order and Mako is in charge of all the orders. How he can remember 12 different peoples’ orders is crazy. I can barely remember why I’m telling this story!

Just then the door to my room creaks and I look up at the plain clock on the wall. A half hour has passed since the nurse left… probably? The door opens wider and two doctors shuffle in. One is familiar to me, Dr. Santos, and the other is a woman. She’s not quite young which tells me she probably found her soulmate. Her thick, blonde hair is pulled up into a ponytail and her blue eyes appear a bit bigger underneath her glasses. Her name tag reads “Dr. Ziegler” and a bad sensations settles itself inside my intestines.

“Mr Fawkes! It has been a month or two hasn’t it?”

His smile seems a bit forced, guess he still remembers last time. When he was checking my blood pressure I punched him in the head in a panic. He had asked me to leave shortly after, saying that my vitals were probably the same as usual.  _ So _ , my brain provides,  _ he has backup now _ ?

“Hello Mr Fawkes,” her voice has a foreign zing to it, “my name is Dr. Ziegler. Admittedly that will be changing soon, but I wanted to meet you myself.”

I raise my left eyebrow at her, a smile gracing my features again.

“Really? You wanted to meet little ol’ me? You’re too sweet.”

Her smile dipped just a bit, but didn’t slide completely off. In fact it seemed to strengthen and become brighter. Dr. Santos walks behind her, pulling out papers I had never seen before from random drawers. Suspicion begins to creep its way into my belly, laying on top of that uneasy feeling in my intestines.

“There is no reason to be nervous Mr. Fawkes. I just have a few simple questions to ask you!”

“Alroight…”

“Are you from Australia?”

I frown, “No shit.”

“Right, that’s a stupid question. How old are you James?”

That feeling is squeezing my insides tightly, “You should know that Dr. Blondie.”

Her smile’s attitude changes from friendly to fiendish pretty quickly. Now Lucio hands me a clipboard and pencil, looking a little too excited. 

“Please fill these out Jamison.”

“Hey,” I exclaim, “the only people allowed to call me that are my friends.”

“Understood. Please,” she gestures to the board. 

Lucio and her head for the door again, making a quick comment. Something like, “We’ll be back soon,” or something. The first paper has a sketch of a human body with directions saying to circle where I have pain, and what kind of pain. This is easy, I circle the entire sketch and write “normal” for the description. The next page contains questions I have never seen before. Some ask about how well I sleep, to which I promptly answered, “Enough.” Other questions asked if I was ever sad, or if I found myself getting mad easily. Do you eat often? Is your body at its healthy weight? Have you suffered a loss recently? Have you had daydreams that feel to real? Do you ever feel as if you have no control over your emotions? Are you seeing things? Do you hear voices?

“ _ Oh man, I recognise these questions…” _

An involuntary sigh leaves my lips and I calmly set the clipboard down. I suddenly feel all the energy leave my body, making me feel like a bag of bones. Both doctors are shouting at me, but I find myself already leaving that hallway. I quicken my pace to a jog, hearing voices drawing closer. What is their deal? Now loud thudding approaches my left side. When I turn my head in that direction large bodies wearing navy blue uniforms are charging towards me.  _ “Great, they’re coming for you too!”  _ I bolt towards the front doors, and more boots start thudding behind me. Outside the breeze ruffles my hair, stinging my cheeks. I got halfway through the parking lot when someone wraps their arms around my waist from behind. 

Roadie warned me about this; plenty of youngsters like myself have been going missing. The only thing connecting the kidnappings is that each victim had not met their soulmate. Kidnappings have been happening for a couple years now. Rich, fat, suits getting old and their other half can’t seem to satisfy them anymore. It’s a disgusting crime, silently accepted by society. Why not? There is no harm, is there? It’s not like they will age anyway, so their lives aren’t wasted. Except, most kidnapping victims are not doted on. They are used and abused until stockholm syndrome has taken its hold. One of Roadie’s gang members was a victim. She only made it out alive because she took the stupid suit’s life before he could take hers. She finally found her better half a few years back. 

I can hear the guy behind me grunting with effort trying to keep me in his arms. Scratching his arms, and biting is doing nothing other than tire me. Too bad I’m too stubborn for my own good. With as much force as I can muster I lift my legs up over my head. This succeeds in caging the security guard’s skull. In his stunned state I’m able to push my weight further back, allowing my body to flip completely. The guard ends up on his back, face full of buns, before I quickly stand up and run. I do not stop running, even when my legs and lungs beg me too. Everything around me is a blur of cars and abandoned houses. Soon streets start to look familiar to me and as soon as I make a right turn I am facing my home. Technically it is Roadie’s house, but he really doesn’t do anything to keep it up. Sure, he pays the bills, but I clean the place. 

The front door gives a loud groan that echoes down the empty entrance way. I shrug off my coat, carelessly tossing it onto a coat rack in the corner. Shoving off my boots proves to be difficult after running for who knows how long. Once off though my feet seem to take in a deep breath and relax against the old wood. Walking down the  hallway, just to the front of the entrance, I shout up the staircase to my right, “I’m home!” 

The house itself was built back when the city was alive and thriving, around the second World War. The floors were your standard chestnut stained wood, the walls covered in overly ornate yellow wallpaper. Hog recently painted over some with white so the yellow wouldn’t hurt our eyes as bad. Most of the furniture in the house has seen better days. Approaching the living room the first thing that catches my attention is the rotten green couch. It’s the only piece of furniture that didn’t come with the house, something he picked up from the dump. The color clashed with the brown tone of the recliner off the the left, and the old wooden TV set in between the two pieces of furniture. There used to be a coffee table made from glass, but Roadie broke it one night when he was extremely drunk. 

He had the gang members over to celebrate a victory of sorts, wouldn’t tell me at the time. As the night had wore on the gang members got the usually sturdy figure drinking more and more. Soon the giant was stumbling on his own two feet and with the aid of a couple more drunk members, started a wrestling match in the middle of the living room floor. The two boys had lifted him straight up into the air, and unable to hold his weight, toppled over. I could hear the crash from the enclosed kitchen, which recently got updated by the pig man himself. 

The kitchen still had the ugly fridge, but one of the gang members had given us their old stove. It was only a couple years old at the time, and matched the microwave gifted to me by another member of his gang. The counter tops are covered in white linoleum, with a matching floor and ceiling. The backsplash, if you could call it that, is fake wood paneling. Hog went wild in the kitchen, tearing down a wall to the kitchen so it became open to the living space. The cabinets went from being brown wood to white plastic, adding to the mess rather than fixing it. With the wall open it actually made enough space for a sorry excuse of a dining room. Really it could only fit a small round table and four chairs. 

I find myself plopping onto one of these dining chairs, rubbing my hands down my face. Adrenaline still coursed through my veins, making my hands shake, and my toes buzz. My mind is already whirring with how to react when Hog finally comes down the staircase. “ _ You could pretend it never happened, like always. _ ” 

“ _ Be honest, maybe it’ll calm you down.” _

_ “Drink! Drink! Drink your worries away!” _

The sound of Roadie’s heavy footfalls calms my nerves slightly, finally allowing me time to take deep breaths. By the time he saunters into the living room I have made my resolve. Afterall, perhaps his gang could help with the problem. The brute sat down in the dining chair across from mine, folding his arms across his chest. He wasn’t wearing his trademark mask, showing off his rough features. His pale green eyes made contact with my amber ones and a frown pulled his features down. 

“Why are you back so soon?”

My mouth hangs open, the words stuck in my throat. I want to tell him, but another part of me is whispering that it’s not a big deal. It happens to everyone and there’s plenty of people who got away. What if he doesn’t believe me? My mind is battling again, coming up with positive and negatives to telling hoggy.  _ Be a big boy and just report the hospital, don’t involve him in your problems…  _ Hog’s eyes gleam with irritation and he shifts forward in the dining chair. Big arms cross and lay down on the table top.

“Jamison, what is going on? Talk to me.”

With a deep breath I try to say something again, but all that comes out is a choked laugh. Then I’m laughing hysterically, feeling as if tons of weight was added to my shoulders. Nausea pulls at my stomach, my lungs burning with effort as my giggles turn into choked sobbing. Wordlessly Mako stares at me, his expression changing into an aggressive display of concern. As quickly as his heavy set body enables him Roadie moves over to the dining chair to my left. He grasps my scrawny arm, easily pulling my hand away from my face. I can only imagine the ugly sight he sees. 

Granted, this isn’t the first time he’s seen me cry. However this is probably the first reason I’ve cried out of genuine fear. One of the reasons I appreciate Roadie is because of his tolerance of me. How we met wasn’t exactly pleasant. I had just turned 21 and went out to legally binge on alcoholic fruity drinks. After having three to many I had stumbled into one of his gang members, claiming I could beat his arse. Least to say I left with a couple bruises, a broken tooth, and a friend of sorts. Four years later I live with him and still feel like a child. I definitely look like one too, but that’s a subject I don’t want to tackle. 

“Jamie,” I finally look into Hog’s eyes, “ talk to me. Don’t shut down on me.”

After taking another deep breath I can feel myself calm down a little, but now I feel so tired. However, Roadie is right, I should just tell him. 

“Sorry…” Leaves my mouth instead. 

Now he’s shaking his head, long silver hair moving gracelessly across his shoulders. He raises his other arm to grab at my free hand. 

“Jamie…”

“I went to the doctor office like you told me to Roadie, that’s all.”

With a low growl, he pulls me more towards him. This forces me to look him in the eyes, all my attention on him. 

“The last time you reacted like this you got into a huge mess. I’m not dealing with that shit again. You,” he shakes me a bit, “will tell me what happened, or so help me Jamie I will confiscate your kits!”

The only thing I took with me when I moved in with him were my precious kits. Each one held a blueprint for different types of weaponry.

“No,” I bark out and tears are gathering in my eyes again.

“Then tell me why the fuck you are crying like this!”

“I was almost kidnapped today! There, I told you! Now leave me alone you fat fuck!”

Right after the words leave my mouth his eyes widen, obviously shocked by my confession. I don’t mean it of course, but I am quite the stubborn human being. I feel irrationally mad now and so I say things I don’t mean. Knowing this doesn’t stop me of course, I keep doing it over and over again. Luckily, I think Mako has caught on to me because he doesn’t seem as irritated when it happens now. 

Roadhog doesn’t really use his words, he prefers action. So, I’m not to surprised when he finally tugs me forwards and into his burly arms. His hugs are both rare and a treat. I would never say this to his face, but he’s like a father I never had. Maybe mother fits him better, especially with how much he likes to cook. Is that a stereotype? Though the hug only lasts a few seconds, it feels like hours. When Roadie finally lets go he looks me in the eyes again.

“Go rest up in your room, and don’t come down until I call for you.”

I simply nod, lifting myself up from the white dining chair. My feet feel heavy as I drag myself towards the stairs, taking them two at a time. On the landing I take in a deep breath before letting it all out through my nose. Today has been way too much and brings back to many feelings. Opening my bedroom door lets out a small squeak, but otherwise is disturbingly quiet. My room isn’t much to gloat about, the walls are covered in both old and new blueprints. Scattered all over the floor are various broken gadgets, half finished ideas, and tools. The double bed has just plain old blue sheets and a yellow comforter. I used to have a dresser, but I took that apart to make a rocking horse for one of the gang member’s daughters. Hopefully Roadhog doesn’t find out…

I flop onto my bed, wrapping myself into a cocoon. Closing my eyelids a face flashes into my mind, smiling carelessly. On days like these, ones that make me feel as if living isn’t worth the trouble anymore, her face always comes to mind. My mother wasn’t the most pleasant individual, but she tried her best until the very end. Every birthday I had she’d make one of my precious kits as a gift. She always promised to help me out with them, a smile similar to mine gracing her features. 

Courtney Fawkes was a stubborn woman, to beautiful for the Australian outback. At least that’s what she would tell me when recounting stories from her home country. She worked with my grandfather at a nuclear plant. The plant didn’t pay much and in order to afford the little home we had my mother started making weapons. Even as a child I knew her weapons were illegal and very dangerous. She started making me kits when I was about 6-years-old. I had snuck into her workroom, which happened to be a guest bedroom, and proceeded to fail taking apart an assault rifle. Mind you, this was not the first time I had attempted to disassemble a weapon. However, this was the first time she caught me in the act. A small chuckle escapes my throat when the memory hits me. Fun fact, the first kit she ever made for me was a grenade kit. 

She disappeared on fateful afternoon; left for work and never returned home. My grandmother caught on pretty quickly and moved us out to the United States. She did leave a letter behind, the ink discoloring a bit at the edges now, and the pages a bit yellowed with age. Remembering this fact I let one of my arms slither from the blanket’s warm embrace to reach for a small box under my bed. I’ve had to replace it a couple times now, since up until a few years ago I just used shoe boxes I found in alleyways. 

This time my precious memoirs are kept inside a tin box yours truly created out of coffee cans. I painted it with yellow smiley-faces, the faces always reminding me of my mother. Opening the lid inside rests some images covered in unidentifiable stains. One is myself, before turning seven, and my mother crouched behind me. In my small hands I hold a small grenade mom helped me to build. There are several more, but underneath all of them is the letter. 

_ Dear Jamie, _

_ I am going to get lots of shit for this, but I can’t pretend anymore. I hate nights like these where I’m stuck in the house with nothing to do. There’s only so many things that can distract you before voices begin to form in your head.  _

_ “Someday you’ll meet the right one.” _

_ “Someone is waiting for you out there.” _

_ “Nobody is born to be alone!” _

_ “You haven’t found your soulmate yet?” _

_ “Where is the child’s father?” _

_ Is it so weird that I prefer to be alone? Someday you’ll get it, because you’re just like me. You’ll always be alone and the only way out of that is with this. It’s pretty lame how everything has led me to this moment. You used to look up to me and tell me how amazing I was. Back when my small weapon business had been booming. Back when all my old friends were the same age as me. So annoying... I really don’t want to do this, but what other way is there. I’m never going to meet the one and I honestly don’t care anymore. Good luck to you, because you’re about to be as fucked as I am.  _

_ Goodbye. _

  
  
  
  
  



	2. Update

Preview of the next chapter: I love making things for the members; while Torbjorn fixes things, I make new ones. One year I made a sniper rifle for Widowmaker as she had told me one night, after too many glasses of white wine, that she missed shooting them. The look of awe and joy was so worth the tongue lashing I got from Roadhog the next morning. Besides that I’ve also made grenades for Roadhog, a shotgun for Soldier, and a scythe for Reaper. He didn’t think that was funny, but everyone else had a good laugh that year. Speaking of time, in one of my kits a clock was required and so I never know what time it is anymore.   
Now I just wake when the sun peeks through my windows. With the sun shining I force myself to sit up, the blanket pooling around my waist. My bones creak with every movement I make, even my ribs groaning in agony with every breath. I shouldn’t have worn my clothes to bed. After a good long stretch I practically leap off the bed, making my way out of the room. As the door creaks open a strong smell permeates the air. Breakfast, my mind helpfully provides. I take the stairs two at a time with a grin on my face. Though yesterday may have been a doozy, today will be better; I can feel it in my weak bones.   
By the time I enter the dining area our front door knocks in a familiar beat. Sombra and Gabriel enter, Soldier trailing in moments later. Sombra, upon seeing my handsome face, runs right at me. She slams right into my stomach, knocking the breath out of me. My wheezing doesn’t faze her; instead she wraps her arms tight around me.  
“Hi Jamie! I missed you so much!”   
Once I can breathe again I hug her as tightly as I can.  
“Missed you too.”  
Behind me I can hear Mako setting the table. As soon as the hug is over Sombra races for the dining table, already stealing my spot. I can’t even fight for it anymore; last time I fought with Sombra Gabriel had given me the worst brain duster known to man.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, my first attempt at a soulmates au! If you wish to see more please let me know! I'm trying to get back into the swing of things as its been a very long-time since I've written anything. If you have any critiques let me know. Other than that, thank you for reading my attempt at an Overwatch fanfiction.


End file.
